


S is for Sentinel G is for Guide

by Calacious



Category: Sesame Street (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, First Kiss, M/M, Sharing a Bed platonically, episode tag of sorts, slight crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: While looking at a picture hanging on their wall, Bert and Ernie think back to the day when their relationship shifted. There was a rainbow, Big Bird was flying a kite, and Ernie was singing in the bathtub. Bert could hear his best friend's heart beating even through the walls.





	S is for Sentinel G is for Guide

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this awhile ago, but wasn't sure about posting it. I read, a long time ago now, that every fandom needs at least one Sentinel fic. I am not sure if anyone else has written one for Sesame Street or not, but here's mine. 
> 
> Ernie and Bert are adults in this. There is no copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction, and I am not earning anything through the writing of this.
> 
> Ernie and Bert share a bed, but there is no sex in this story. It is about Bert learning he's a Sentinel and that Ernie's his Guide. There is a kiss at the end.

“Oh, hi there,” Bert says, and he smiles and waves, looks around the room, and points to the new picture on the wall. “Oh, you're wondering about the new picture, aren't you?” 

“Hey, Bert,” Ernie says and waves at the unexpected audience. He notices that Bert’s attention is on the new picture that's hanging on their wall. “I bet you're wondering about the new picture,” he says. 

“That's just what I was saying,” Bert sighs and raises his uni-brow.

“Well, Bert, how about we tell them about it?” Ernie asks. He smiles at Bert, and places a hand on Bert's arm.

“Oh, I don't know Ernie. I'm not sure where to begin,” Bert says. His eyes are on the picture. 

In it, Bert and Ernie's arms are wrapped around each other in a hug, and they're staring into each other's eyes. There's another couple in the picture as well, standing to the left of the Muppets. A tall man, who, in some ways, resembles Bert, and a shorter man with long, curly hair that fans his face. Both men, like Bert and Ernie, are holding each other. It's clear that they love each other.

“Well, Bert, as they say, it's always best to begin at the beginning,” Ernie says, and he squeezes Bert's arm.

“I'm not sure how best to explain,” Bert mutters, almost to himself, but then he begins...

“S is for Sentinel and senses," and so many things that Bert used to take for granted, before he became what he became. 

"G is for Guide and good friends," and the color grey, which used to define Bert’s life fairly well. He misses it, sometimes, but most of the time, he doesn’t, because the color grey isn’t as wonderful as all of the colors of the rainbow. 

"5 is the number of senses that people have. Normal senses. Senses that do not go out of whack.” 

Bert doesn't know what happened to make him come ‘online’. What happened to make his five senses go out of control. There’s nothing specific that he can point to, and say,  _ this is what happened to make me a freak _ . It just happened. One day he was normal, and the next, he wasn’t. 

He does remember that it was raining that day. Ernie was taking a bath with his rubber ducky. Singing. The letter of the day was B. Banana. Boat. Bird. The number of the day was 3. Three paper clips. Three cookies. One, two, three.

Big Bird was flying a kite. Elmo was feeding his fish. Cookie Monster was baking a batch of monster cookies -- Bert can remember smelling them all the way across town, and, at the time, thinking nothing of it. It was, after all, such an ordinary, everyday occurrence on his street. 

Kermit the Frog was in town, visiting Telly Monster. There was nothing unusual about the day at all. 

There was a rainbow at the end of the street, and that’s the best that Bert can get to narrowing down when he first felt different.

The colors were too bright, and it felt like they were exploding behind his eyes, like a kaleidoscope gone haywire. And he remembers the sounds -- Big Bird's voice too loud, though the bird was on the other side of Sesame Street at the time; Elmo's singing, like the screeching of wheels on wet cement; the sound of Ernie's heart, almost like it was beating inside of Bert, though they weren’t even in the same room at the time. And it felt as though his clothing was burning a hole through his skin. 

He doesn't remember screaming. Doesn't remember running down the street, streaking past Oscar's can, and frightening Slimy in the process. 

But he does remember the taste of the rain. How it exploded on his tongue. How it tasted like rust and earth and something that Bert did not know the name of. 

And he remembers Ernie rushing after him, calling out to him, and bringing him back to himself with words that Bert cannot remember. He remembers Ernie's touch. Light, and grounding. Remembers, as he thinks he always will, his best friend's scent -- citrus and vanilla and something that can only be defined as 'Ernie'. 

The sound of Ernie's heartbeat, his voice, the blood rushing through his veins, is what keeps Bert sane during the first few months after he's come online. And Ernie's careful not to leave Bert's side at all, helping him with his overactive senses with words, or touch, or by simply letting Bert get up right into the crook of his neck and sniff. Bert can’t explain how or why it helps. It just does, and for some reason his abnormalities, while noticed, are widely accepted, and after the initial hubbub dies down, everything on the street goes back to normal. Except, of course, for Bert.

Bert's able to help out in ways he's never been able to before. He arrives, just in time, to push Grover out of the way of a falling tower of blocks, because he can hear it shifting seconds before it falls. The blue Muppet thanks him profusely, and Bert blushes, waves off his fellow Muppet's thanks, rushes home to find Ernie pacing, and wringing his hands, worried lines marring his face. Bert buries his nose into the crook of Ernie’s neck, drinking in his friend’s scent, feeling safe and secure, and good and right.  


There are other saves throughout the ensuing months that Bert excuses away as just being in the right place at the right time, or coincidence. He doesn't want to alarm anyone unnecessarily, though most of them know that something's different about him. That he can literally smell danger from blocks away, and hear it approaching well before it turns a corner. 

It's several months after Ernie has taken to sleeping in Bert's bed -- to keep him from waking when one of his senses spikes or gets out of control -- that they get some answers as to what is happening to Bert, and why he can't seem to function without Ernie's help, why he's suddenly become some kind of superhero on Sesame Street, without the fancy cape with the letter 'B' stitched into it and matching tights. And the answer comes, strangely enough, from Oscar, who was watching some kind of documentary about people with heightened senses, and those who help them. 

It's Oscar who first utters the words, 'Sentinel', and 'Guide' in his usual gruff manner. And it's Oscar who, begrudgingly, gives Bert and Ernie a phone number and a couple of names: Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison. 

Bert doesn't know what to make of any of it. He just wants his life to go back to normal, though he doesn't regret saving Grover from the falling blocks, Cookie Monster from burning his house down when his oven was on the fritz (he'd been unable, unfortunately, to save the big blue Muppet's chocolate chip cookies), Big Bird from a strike of lightning that had ruined the bird's nest, and so on. 

Bert wants to not need Ernie the way that he needs him. Wants to be able to walk down the street without hearing every neighbor's heartbeat, or running the risk of focusing on a single scent or sound or sight to the point that he loses everything else, and Ernie has to come along and bring him back.

It's Ernie who calls the number Oscar had gotten from the documentary. Ernie who talks to Blair Sandburg and Jim Ellison. Ernie who sets up the meeting, and talks Bert into going along with it. 

He knows he needs answers. Needs to understand why this happened to him, and why it is that Ernie's voice, touch, and scent can soothe him when no one else's can. 

They've been best friends and roommates for years, but before now, Bert has never been dependent on Ernie for anything, other than friendship. He's always been the one with a solid head on his shoulders; the one to help keep Ernie planted solidly on the ground when his friend's head is in the clouds. 

Bert doesn't like that he has to rely on Ernie to function in the world. He wants to go back to when he was Ernie's anchor. He doesn't like being afloat, and at the mercy of his five senses. Doesn't like that he's lost his independence. 

He likes even less when Jim and Blair come into the home that he shares with Ernie. It makes him feel cagey, and like he's going to crawl out of his skin. He feels an insane urge to kick Jim out of his home, to protect Ernie from the tall, muscular man. To do something he's never done in his life, and would never have dreamed of doing before this madness started -- act out in violence. 

He tries not to pace, tries not to lean so much into Ernie's touch, and into the sound of his friend's voice when Ernie pats him on the arm, and assures him that everything's going to be alright, that Jim and Blair are just there to help answer some of their questions. 

Bert can't remember any of the questions that he'd had, can only hear a buzzing in his head that almost drowns out Ernie's voice. A buzzing that quiets when Jim finally settles onto the couch that is tucked away into a far corner of the living room. Blair sits down next to him, hand on Jim’s, thumb running soothingly on the inside of the man's wrist. Bert can hear the movement, can hear the strong, steady heartbeats of both men. It’s unnerving. 

"Bert, can you tell me what was happening the day that these...symptoms...first manifested?" Blair asks. His voice is calming, and Bert takes a deep breath, focuses on the welcome weight of Ernie's hand on his shoulder as he thinks back to that day, nearly six months ago.

He haltingly talks about the rain, the rainbow and its colors, the fact that he could smell Cookie Monster’s cookies from several houses away, but hadn’t thought anything of it until afterward. 

His uni-brow scrunches into a stern v-shape as he thinks, and he paces. He can’t narrow it down to one event, and it’s driving him mad. 

A pigeon coos, and Bert turns toward the sound, and sees, not only a feral pigeon, common to Sesame Street, but also what looks like a small, yellow duck. It waddles past him and Ernie, toward the stately looking pigeon, both having appeared suddenly in the living room. Bert frowns, and blinks at the pair of birds, and shakes his head. Startled from his train of thought, Bert can only stare at the birds.

"Oh, wow, man," Blair says, excited, eyes lighting up as he looks at Jim. "Spirit Guides."

"Spirit...what?" Bert's steps falter as he stumbles over the words, and he eyes the birds warily. Seeing himself and Ernie in them. It’s disorienting and unsettling, and Bert, while he loves pigeons, isn’t sure he likes this situation one bit.

The pigeon is bobbing its head, and cooing, and the duck, so like Ernie's bath-time rubber ducky, is tucked up beneath one of the pigeon's wings, as though being sheltered, or cuddling. It's comforting, and, when Bert tilts his head, he notices that he's got Ernie tucked up beside him, beneath his arm, just like the pigeon with the smaller, yellow duck.

"Spirit Guides," Blair repeats. "At first I wasn't sure that you were the real deal. I mean, another Sentinel manifesting so late in life, and on the other side of the country. It just seemed too coincidental. Too good to be true, but...Spirit Guides." There's awe in his voice, and if Bert doubted the young man's sincerity, he would know the truth by the even, steady beat of his heart. 

The pigeon and the duck seem to vanish into thin air, and Bert feels a little lost, almost abandoned, with their sudden disappearance. 

"What is a Sentinel?" Ernie asks, and he ducks his head, though Bert can sense his friend's excitement at finally, maybe, getting some real answers to what's been going on with Bert for all of these many months.

Blair's smile is radiant, whereas Jim's is tight and controlled. Bert is leery of the other man, though he's not done, or said, anything to warrant Bert’s distrust. It's just a vibe he gets off of him that puts Bert on edge, and makes him feel like he's got to protect Ernie, protect all of Sesame Street, from some undefinable threat that Jim represents. As though Sesame Street is Bert's territory, and he needs to keep it safe from Jim.

"A Sentinel is someone who has heightened senses," Blair explains. "Some have only a few heightened senses, whereas others, like Jim, and I'm guessing, Bert, have all five of their senses heightened."

Bert blinks at that, and looks toward Ernie for confirmation and encouragement. He can't do this on his own. Hasn't been able to do any of this on his own. Ernie squeezes Bert's shoulder and smiles at him, and it makes Bert's heart do a strange little flip-flop before it settles once again in his chest. 

"How can we fix it?" Bert asks, eager for an answer, and a way out of this craziness. He wants to be normal again, even if it means that Grover gets buried under a pile of blocks, or Cookie Monster’s cookies get burnt.

He wants his life back, and though it feels good having Ernie tucked so close to his side, he thinks that maybe it's not right, and maybe, if Blair and Jim can fix whatever is wrong with him, then he and Ernie can go back to the way things were before that day when the world exploded into color and sound and taste and touch and smells that were too much for Bert to handle on his own. If he can get his life back to what it once was, then Ernie can return to his own bed, and won't have to follow Bert around, just to make sure that he doesn't get lost in one of his heightened senses. 

Blair frowns at that, and he threads his fingers through Jim's who smiles at the smaller man, before he turns his gaze toward Bert and Ernie. His eyes are clear blue, and, if wasn't for Ernie's hand on his arm, and Ernie's breath on his neck, Bert has a feeling that he'd lose himself in the blueness of Jim's eyes. 

"You can't," Jim says, shrugging, squeezing Blair's hand. His voice is matter of fact, and Bert can detect a hint of regret in it, as though Jim, too, would like to be able to turn this anomaly off, and go back to a life that he left behind long ago. Much longer than Bert had.

"But you _ can _ learn how to control your senses," he says, eyes boring into Bert's in a way that makes Bert uncomfortable. "With the help of your Guide."

"Guide?" Ernie asks, looking from Bert to Jim to Blair, and blinking rapidly. 

Bert can hear Ernie's heartbeat pick up, and he pulls him tighter to his side, offering what little comfort he can. Ernie's heartbeat slows some, regains the steady rhythm it had before the mention of Guides.

Blair grins, and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, thighs touching Jim's as though both men need the physical contact.

"Every Sentinel needs a Guide," Blair says. "Though the research is fairly new, there are archival records dating centuries back, which tell stories of Sentinels and their Guides, and how a Sentinel without a Guide is unable to function properly in the world."

"From where I'm sitting, it looks to me like you've already found your Guide," Jim adds, nodding toward Ernie, and chuckling when Bert scowls at him, and tightens his grip on the smaller Muppet. 

Bert barely resists the urge he has to push Ernie behind him, and face off against Jim. It's primal, and uncivilized, and Bert is partially mortified by the way that he's feeling, though Jim doesn't seem at all perturbed by it. 

"If I'm Bert's Guide, then what do I do?" Ernie asks. "How do I help him?"

"You're already helping him," Jim assures Ernie with a small smile. 

Blair nods. "Yeah, man," he agrees. "I mean, every Sentinel is different. With Jim, I typically use touch, and sound. I talk to him if he zones, you know, focuses too hard on one sense, and tunes out the rest of the world. I use touch to help ground him when he needs it."

From what Bert has witnessed, it seems to him as though the need for touch is almost constant, and he wonders if that's how it's always going to be for him and Ernie now. They've always been close. Will this 'condition' of his require them to be even closer? Will Bert need Ernie's touch as much as Jim seems to need Blair's? Will Ernie need Bert’s touch as much as it seems that Blair needs Jim’s? Because, from where Bert is standing (a good, safe distance from the pair), it seems to him that both men crave physical contact, not just Jim. 

Jim clears his throat, and squirms in his seat, mutters, "Scent," so low that only Bert can hear it. 

Bert's head snaps up, and he raises his uni-brow, gets a slight nod to confirm that he's heard Jim correctly, and takes a deep, fortifying breath. He closes his eyes as he savors Ernie's scent, and he understands what Jim is talking about, and why he was hesitant to share something so intimate with him. The fact that he'd shared it anyway goes a long way toward softening Bert toward the other Sentinel, making the man seem less like a territorial threat, and more like an ally.

Ernie sighs in relief, grinning in that goofy way that he has that makes Bert's stomach flutter. "So, I'm doing the right things?"

Blair and Jim both nod, and smile at the orange Muppet, reassuring both Ernie, and Bert. 

"As Bert's true Guide, you are uniquely gifted to work with him," Blair says. "At least, that's the current theory that I've been working on proving. If I hadn't seen your Spirit Guides together, I would have tried to help you find a suitable Guide to help you with your senses, but Ernie's it, man. He's your one true Guide, and if I'm understanding the research, and the archaic records properly, then what you and Ernie have is rare, and special, and --"

"But isn't that what you and Mr. Ellison have?" Ernie blurts out, and he ducks his head shyly, fingers digging into Bert’s arm in a way that is almost painful. 

Blair blinks at the Muppet, and shares a look with Jim. Bert doesn't miss the skipping heartbeats, or the way that both men seem completely synced to one another, as though they share the same heartbeat, the same breath, the same thoughts. 

Bert shares a look with Ernie, and is hit with a sudden realization -- so strong that it's like a mixture of deja vu and vertigo -- that Ernie is his, and he's Ernie's. They belong to each other, just like peanut butter belongs with jelly, Batman with Robin, Big Bird with Mr. Snuffleupagus, Kermit with Miss Piggy (if the two ever manage to work out their differences). 

It's both dizzying and grounding, and Bert isn't sure what to do with the warring sensations, so he holds onto Ernie, and lets everything sweep over the both of them until the mass of overwhelming emotions simply stops, and Bert's heart beats out the same rhythm that Ernie's does, and they breathe in and out at the same pace, and when he looks into Ernie's eyes, he can see his own thoughts reflected in the inky depths. Something pulls at his belly button, like a cord, and Bert feels inexplicably tied to Ernie.

"Wow, Bert," Ernie breathes out the words, and he smiles, reaches up to touch Bert's face. 

There's a spark. Bert smells electricity, and hears the high whine of it buzzing in the air before it simply cuts off, and he's left with nothing but the warmth of Ernie's hand on his cheek. The roots of his hair, the tips of his fingers, and all the way down to his toes, tingles, and Bert licks his lips, leans closer to Ernie.

"Now you've got what we have," Jim says, voice husky, and when Bert turns to look at the two men -- Sentinel and Guide -- he blushes, because they're kissing, Jim's hands buried in Blair's hair, and Blair's face tilted slightly upward, eyes closed.

_ It’s like magic, _ Bert thinks, and then he returns his attention to Ernie, takes in the dreamy look on his friend’s face, and dips his head to scent, and to taste his friend, his Guide. 

Lips meet lips in a burst of flame that dies down into something more manageable, and Ernie tastes like the rainbow that Bert suspects started it all, colors blending together, and yet each uniquely distinct. It’s heady, and dizzying, and when Bert pulls back, both of them are panting, struggling to catch their breath, clinging to each other as though they’d float away if they didn’t. 

“Sentinel,” Ernie breathes out the word, and Bert can hear Blair saying the same thing as though he’s Ernie’s echo.

“Guide,” Bert says.

Bert can hear the word slip from Jim’s lips seconds after he’s uttered it, and he presses his forehead to Ernie’s, shares a lopsided smile with his other half, because that’s what Ernie is, the other half of Bert. It’s what he’s been for a long time, even before this mess with Bert’s senses.

“Fitted together like two paper clips,” Bert says. “Individual, yet, when strung together, a perfect match.” 

“Two peas in a pod,” Ernie says, chuckling softly. 

It reminds Bert of the Christmas that Mr. Hooper saved by returning the items that he and Ernie had sold to buy presents for each other -- a pink soap dish for Ernie’s rubber ducky, purchased with Bert’s paper clip collection, and a cigar box for Bert’s paper clip collection, purchased with Ernie’s rubber ducky. 

They’d both only been concerned about the other. And this, right here, right now, with Ernie, is the same as it ever was, each more concerned about the other than he is about himself. 

Sentinel and Guide. 

Bert and Ernie.

 


End file.
